Buy A Slytherin!
by Glenn-Agape
Summary: The only reason Harry was in Knockturn Alley was to buy class supplies, he swears. But when he stumbles across a hidden organization that specialized in human trafficking (slave market), he finds out that the theme for the day includes a star product who is none other than the famous Draco Malfoy. Is Malfoy really worth the sum of money that comes with his name?
1. Chapter 1

**Buy A Slytherin!**

**Chapter 1: Giving 'Infamous' A Whole New Meaning**

The only reason why Harry Potter, Hero of the Wizarding world, was down there was because as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor (who _hasn't_ been kicked out, replaced, died, or cursed in a single year), he needed supplies. And in the profession that he was in now, where else could he find Flesh-Eating Slug Repellant in none other than Knockturn Alley? Before embarking on his trip, the man had mentally thanked his memory for remembering that in his second year, Hagrid had casually said in conversation that he had bought the repellant in the ghastly alley. However, just because the supplies were necessary, didn't mean that the raven-haired man was ecstatic to be taking a day trip to the area.

He had been there on numerous occasions, including his times as an Auror. After his 'eighth' year in Hogwarts, graduating with his friends who had taken the year as well, Harry had moved on seamlessly towards the profession of being an Auror, as what most of the world expected of him, and what he actually wanted for himself as well. Ron applied along with him, and for the first three years after his graduation, Harry was an esteemed Auror who had risen the ranks in short time, being famous not only for the scar on his forehead, but for his skill as an Auror. Of course, fame wasn't the top priority on the man's list. In fact, if he had a chance, he would have signed all his fame away in order to live a simple life that didn't include frantic handshakes and autographs wherever he went. But whenever he could – which included press conferences, interviews, and media coverage – Harry had taken the initiative to stress extremely well the fact that he hated the amount of fame that was thrown at him, and cordially begged the Wizarding world to refrain from treating him as if he were a hero. Which, he was. But still, Harry could try. Luckily, over the years, the fame had eventually died down, and while he still got smiles and nods and a few bows out of respect, he was glad to see that there were no more people throwing themselves at him in the middle of a shop or street just to take a picture and express their undying love for him. Really now, people should have more dignity.

However, despite all that, life as an Auror was great. But things had come and gone, and Harry had realized that as much as he loved saving the lives of people, he hated seeing friends and coworkers die before him, as well as attaining a new gash or broken bone every few days, resulting in a forced leave from work. Harry wanted a steady job, one where there was no pressure in thinking up the right spell in a few seconds, one that did require him to clutch at Ron's body when he was immobilized, snarling curses with his own broken wrist, hand, whatever. He wanted a job that he didn't need to come home every day, wave a hand to Kreacher tiredly signaling that dinner wasn't going to happen, and collapse on the couch in an exhausted heap. Harry wanted to _relax. _

Thus, he landed the job at Hogwarts, after only a few months deciding time. Ron was surprised, but supported him fully, stating that none other can teach DADA better than Harry could. Hermione was just as supportive as her husband, Ron, and smiled when he went on about helping kids learn how to protect themselves. When he brought it up to McGonagall, surprising her with his visit, her wizened eyes merely sparkled and she gave him her signature thin smile, hiding the actual joy in his application. In a mere few days, he was introduced to the rest of the staff – most that he knew already, and who were happy to have him on the team – and his new classroom and private rooms. It was up to Harry whether or not he chose to stay at the school, or return to Grimmauld place. The man simply decided that he'd just live at both, and depending on his mood that night would depict which house he'd live in.

The new year had started off wonderfully, with many of the students sitting at their desks in awe at their new professor, who was the ever-famed Harry Potter. Even the Slytherins had a grudging respect towards him, and there was more than one time that Harry had smugly (and discreetly) shown off his magic power by casting strong spells in front of the class. All in all, Harry loved his job.

And the best thing about it all was the fact that he had broken the 'curse' that circulated his job. With Voldemort gone and the amount of trouble in the Wizarding world decreasing a large amount, there was nothing that Harry couldn't face. He meant that in the most not-arrogant way possible. Seriously. Thus, his job had gone along smoothly, resulting in many years of Harry as a DADA professor. Now, with years of experience under his belt, the professor had to do many duties, such as restocking on supplies when they ran out.

Harry slid past a tight passageway, the entrance to the alley, and he kept his gaze straight forward to ignore the shady witches and wizards that were hunched over against the walls, reaching out absently at him in hopes to grab his attention. Despite being a professor to children, Harry had a very small tolerance to people that could be found in places like Knockturn Alley. He was still an Auror at heart, and when pushed to the limit, he would shamelessly lash out in the name of justice. When an old crone of a witch mumbled something incoherent in his direction and reached out to snag a bony finger on his robe edge, Harry didn't stop walking, but merely gripped his wand under his sleeve tightly, mentally uttered a nonverbal spell, and he heard the shriek of pain from the woman as her finger bent sideways painfully to the point where she let go and let out a hiss at his back. He wasn't sure who here recognized him or not, but it didn't matter much to him, as he avoided everyone's gaze anyways. Half of him was grateful he was a man of confidence, allowing him to stride through the alley and discard any care of the people's glances, yet half of him was also cursing his luck that the specific shop he needed was a few streets deeper into the god forsaken alley. He always hated this time of year. Maybe he should petition to have the repellants sold in packs of 6 or something, much like Muggle appliances.

Smoke billowed in strange places, and the scent of ash was heavy in the air, threatening to layer itself deeply in one's lungs. Harry promptly raised one arm to cover his nose with his sleeve as he sped up his walking pace, weaving in and out of carts and street shops and people expertly. He heard a loud commotion from one corner of the alley, a large group of people all milling about and seeming excited about some sort of caravan that had arrived. Harry had to bite back a grimace, not wanting to imagine what sort of strange…unnatural…_illegal_ items were being brought in by that caravan. However, even if he was an Auror or not, it was an unsaid government/society rule that one should just leave things be, or face the wrath of insane witches and wizards. What happens in Knockturn Alley stays in Knockturn Alley, and the Ministry would turn a blind eye. Harry was pretty sure that the Muggle society had their own version of the saying. Nevertheless, it was true.

The Creature Crest was a popular shop to both Knockturn Alley folk as well as Diagon Alley people. It was just unfortunately placed in the worst place of the two. Stocked with supplies needed for almost every magical creature in existence, the store itself was large and looming, taking up nearly half of the block that it was on. Harry stepped inside quickly, relaxing only slightly at the familiar store. There were people milling about everywhere, but it wasn't crowded. As Harry walked the store, he looked around and was mentally reminded that no matter how many times he came here, (which was thankfully a small amount of visits) he would never not be amazed by how much they had. Ranging from massive Hippogriff play toys, to rare Unicorn saddles, and to personalized Boggart – containers, Harry couldn't help but admit that the Creature Crest had literally everything.

Meandering towards the front register, a smile broke out on his face as he took in sight and old friend, Chester Leaker. Current owner of the Creature Crest, Chester was someone who had gone to school with Harry, though the other man was three years younger than him. He had excelled greatly in the subject of Magical Creatures and it was no surprise that he would end up taking over some sort of company that dealt with the same things. Though Harry didn't personally know the man in school, they had met on Harry's first visit to the shop, where Chester eagerly explained their non-existent school relationship, and Harry merely laughed, the two being instant friends.

"Harry Potter!" Cried the smaller man, who was a mere 5 foot 2 inches, never having grown any taller since his 6th year. Dark brown curls covered his head and his face was thin and slightly gaunt, but it didn't deter from the liveliness that shone in his face. A button nose perfected the look, making Chester look a lot younger than the 26 year old man he was supposed to be. Much like Flitwick, he hopped onto the stool behind the register to grin brightly at the tall, bespectacled man, sticking out his hand in greeting. "It's fantastic to see you again, my friend!" said the man and Harry eagerly grabbed the hand, shaking it jovially.

"The same to you, Chester." Harry said with a smile, pulling his hand back and sliding it into his pocket to reach for his wallet. "I'm here for the repellant." He said, and Chester nodded vigorously, hopping down from the stool as he ran to the back.

"Yes, yes! I have that, right here." Came the voice, slightly muffled by the curtains hiding the back rooms. When he remerged, he was carrying a giant bottle of the substance, made lighter by a spell. He placed it on the counter and stepped back onto the stool as he stood before the register, waiting for Harry to come forth with the money. "It really is a joy to see you, a bright face amongst…well, you know." Said the younger man thoughtfully and Harry smiled faintly at that, knowing what he meant.

Handing Chester the sum of coins, he glanced around and nodded as he waited for the man to produce his change. "Yes, I figured…But it's always nice to see a friendly face here. At least there's one." Harry said with a grin, and Chester merely returned it with a grin and a nod of his own.

"Mm, yeah. How are classes?" the other man asked, handing the coins back and waving his wand, letting some newspaper wrapping float over to start wrapping itself around the repellant.

Harry tilted his head side to side, rubbing the side of his neck. "Well, last year was fantastic, and the N.E.W.T.S. results from all my classes were astounding." He said with a grin. "I don't know if they all just really like the class, or if they want to show me up." He said with a slight chuckle, the joke springing lightly from his lips.

A bright laugh came from Chester and he shook his head in amusement. "Or maybe they just want to prove to you that they can all be the next Heroes and Heroines of the Wizarding world." He said, completely unknowing that he had just stated Harry's words but in a different way.

Said Hero merely smiled and nodded, shrugging. "That too." He said, and reached over to heft the large bottle in his arms, the excess wrapper returning back to its container. "Well, this new year is going to be just the same, if not better." He said brightly, as he gave a nod to Chester. "It's been great to see you again, Ches." Harry said sincerely.

"Even more to you, Harry. Tell anyone who cares that I said hello." The man replied with a grin, and Harry merely laughed, nodding as he walked towards the door.

"I will, don't worry!"

* * *

><p>Harry stepped outside of the shop gingerly, trying to avoid a crazed-looking woman who was taking her sweet little time to walk across the doorway. He inched past her before stepping out onto the street, wrinkling his nose at the immediate stench of the alley. Turning to face the way he came from, he heard the shouts of people, making him pause and turn his head. It was the same caravan from before, but judging by the shouts and yells, they weren't merely selling plain items. Harry couldn't identify any words over the whole commotion but he could tell that some people were shouting insults, whereas others looked eager. Money bags were in the air, waving around. Was it an auction? The professor had no idea. Turning his whole body, he narrowed his eyes slightly as he tried to take in more of the site. With slight surprise, he noticed that all those that milled around were mainly younger folk, not like the old witches and haggard wizards. They reminded Harry of Bellatrix, with her matted hair and insane eyes, her clothes ragged and ripped. The man shuddered at the memory, but he continued to watch anyways. Through the throng of people, he glimpsed another man – thick bodied and tall, his wand at his throat to make his voice sound a bit louder than the yelling people. He was clutching chains in his other hands, yanking them around and making the crowd sneer and laugh. A flicker of anger burned inside of him. What poor creatures was this guy tormenting with now?<p>

With half a mind to stop him, and half a mind to see what was actually going on, Harry made his legs move towards the crowd of people, the repellent bottle moved to be clutched under one arm as he shifted his free hand inside his pockets, taking out his wand for safety precaution. Reaching the edge of the crowd, he immediately started pushing his way through, trying to reach the general front, in order to see what the whole hullaballoo was about. It was only when he got to the inner circle of people did he stop, frozen in place.

Attached to the chains that the man was holding were not simply poor animals. Instead, they were humans. Witches and Wizards to be exact. On their feet were five of them, hands shackled and bound together, with a heavy looking chain connecting them all together. Behind them was the caravan, whose curtains were open to reveal cages with haggard looking witches and wizards inside. They were dressed in clothes unfit for even the poor, reminding Harry of something that a house elf would wear. Dirty, grimy, sunken faces peered out from behind the cages, looking out over the crowd as if their salvation was somewhere out there. They were silent, except for the sound of a sobbing little girl somewhere in the back of the cages, no one around her bothering to silent her. But the multitude of people was enough to overpower her cries as everyone was focused on whoever the man would show off next.

Harry had never felt more anger and rage than he ever had in his life. He was sure that the amount of fury inside his equaled the amount he felt when facing Voldemort inside the Castle during the war. He had just stumbled upon human trafficking, and never before had he found the urge to just pull out his wand and slash every person's throat in sight.

But of course, he couldn't do that. And he couldn't intervene right at this very moment, or else he'd merely be swarmed, and the Ministry would call him in eventually, chastising him for his 'reckless behavior' on attacking a group of people without ministry backup. Did the Ministry even know this was going on? When the Ministry turned a blind eye to Knockturn Alley, were they also turning a blind eye to this?

Harry silently trembled in rage at the thought, his attention being dragged back to the man when he shoved a thin looking woman at some sleazy looking man, who tossed a bag of coins at the seller. Harry wanted to cry out, _Avada Kedavra_ the man and take the woman back to find a proper home, but he couldn't. He couldn't unless he wanted to face issues that he really didn't need to deal with right now. Of course, he would be bringing this up to the Ministry ASAP, but being a single man surrounded by a group of crazy magical people, he figured he'd be outnumbered if he was to attempt any sort of intervention.

"Thank you, Mister Jartson, for your purchase." Came the smooth and disgustingly silky voice of the seller. He faced the crowd once more as he grinned, Harry noticing that he had lost two teeth and had one that was jet black. "Another reminder, for those lovelies who have just begun to join the festivities," he hissed, as he spread one arm out to gesture at his large caravan and its prisoners. "Today's theme is special, with special people, along with their special prices." Harry felt the urge to vomit. There were _themes_? But before he could ponder on what it meant, the man went on. "And today…today is a one in a life time theme." Removing the wand from his neck, he waved it at the air and suddenly a banner unrolled, with a pathetic little poof of silver and green confetti. Harry's eyes darted up to read the banner and his eyes widened as he felt his chest tighten at the inhumaneness of the entire situation. "Yes!" the man went on, his wand returning to his neck. "Today is 'Buy a Slytherin day!' Where we have a large number of people from the ever-popular house, Slytherin!" the crowd roared and Harry staggered to the side when someone pushed into him. But he merely stayed silent and stared, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his wand tightly.

The man went on to describe the Slytherin house and its occupants, but Harry's mind was already churning. Had Slytherin been a race, this would have been racist on levels unknown to mankind. But if they were selling Slytherins, did they mean that they sold people from the other three houses as well? In fact, where on earth did they even manage to find these people?

Finally, the seller was onto dragging his next prisoner forward, and Harry's eyes bent in concern as he watched the man stagger to the middle of the circle. Much like the woman before him, he was bent over, his hair hanging dirtily in front of his face, hiding it from view. What seemed to be blonde hair was now covered with grime, making it look as if he dunked his head in the sewer and scrubbed – hard. He was shirtless, showing what would have been toned back if it weren't for the slash marks that crisscrossed his back. They were pulsing red, as if newly made, and some where already light purple – welts that had accumulated from months of torture. His arms met the same fate, and it looked as if his breathing was labored. He wore tattered trousers. If stared at hard enough, they could've been recognized as suit trousers, tattered at the feet and ripped in places, no longer usable for anything but a mere cover up. The man wore no shoes, and his feet looked just as bruised and bloody as his back. Harry wanted to gasp at the man's fate. Glancing quickly at the caravan and back, he realized that no other person – nor man nor female – had the amount of wounds that this one had. What had this one done to deserve it all?

"Our star for today is very nice." Stated the seller, and Harry's eyes flicked at him, anxious to know who this was and what happened to him. The man shook the chains and the bent over prisoner coughed weakly. "He might seem weak at the moment, battered up and hurt. But I assure you, he can take a lot more than what's shown. He's traveled with us for months now, and we figured it might be time to bring him home. He's feisty, I'll tell you now, but I'm sure with some proper discipline, you can get him under a belt." came the description, and Harry swallowed thickly. "In fact, I'm sure many of you will recognize our lovely star for the day." came the silky voice. "And granted you can procure the right price, this lovely devil can be yours." The man reached over and grabbed the back of the dirty blonde man's hair, twisting his fingers into his head to hold on tightly. "Presenting the ever infamous, hot-blooded man…" He yanked the head up, long hair falling away from his face to show the crowd his identity. With one black eye and a bruised lip, his face was just as dirty as the rest of the body. But it wasn't the appearance of the prisoner that made the Slug repellant fall from Harry's hand with a crash onto the ground, spilling everywhere and making people jump away from him as he froze. It was _who_ it was.

Standing before him with nearly-closed eyes concealing pain, was none other than Draco Malfoy.

* * *

><p>Time seemed to stand still for Harry Potter, as he gazed at his old school rival in the hands of the seller. He didn't hear the people shouting around him, and he barely even noticed as he was pushed side to side as the throng of people tried to get a better look at the famous Malfoy Heir. Speaking of which, no one had seen for the past 7 years. Other than knowing that he had moved to France to begin his own companies there, the people of London had eventually forgotten about the Malfoy family after Lucius died in Azkaban and Narcissa turned into a hermit, crudely named. Draco Malfoy had become an idea, a mere concept, and when spoken of, people knew he existed. Other than that, nothing. Yet, here he was now, broken up and bruised, nearly at his knees in front of the repulsive folk of Knockturn Alley who Harry knew would gladly give up their own children in order to own someone like Draco Malfoy.<p>

The question that seemed to ring around Harry's mind was merely 'How?' How did Malfoy find himself in this situation? How did he end up this beaten up, when he was rumored to be strong? In all honestly, Harry had seen him as his equal rival in school. As much as the man hated to admit it, Malfoy was strong. Very strong. But there Malfoy was, shackled, with a price over his head. For the first time in his life, Harry felt an absurd amount of pity rushing forth out of him towards his enemy.

_'What are you doing…?' _came the sudden voice ringing clearly in his head. But what surprised him was that he wasn't asking himself what he was doing, the question was meant for Malfoy. As Harry stared down at him, the thoughts just came flowing. _'Malfoy, what are you doing? Why aren't you getting up? Where's your wand, where's your strength? Where's the idiot that I knew in school who'd kill someone just because they did something to mildly piss you off?' _Harry's hands clenched at his sides, his wand digging into his palm. But no matter how much he thought it, Malfoy did not move. He merely stayed still, his body being dragged about by the seller as he was shown off to every person. His eyes had slipped closed, giving him the appearance of being unconscious, but the man had stayed standing up, letting the crowd know he was awake. With a sudden jolt of realization, Harry realized that the reason why Malfoy looked so battered up was because he had _tried._ Malfoy tried to get away, he tried to fight. He tried to work his way back to freedom, but for some reason, he couldn't. And his punishment was a body so injured, that Harry felt like he could feel the pain as well.

His decision came like a bullet, colliding with his head with the force of a bludger. So what if Malfoy was his enemy as a child? They were 29. Surely there has been a change in his demeanor. Plus, regardless if Malfoy was his rival or not, Harry couldn't believe that someone of his status and willpower would find himself in the hands of rats than ran human trafficking. Clearing his head and forcing a wave of calmness over him, he retuned himself with the talk around him, schooling his features.

"-and that will be factored into his final price, which is 10,000 galleons." Said the seller with a face of pure business. Harry heard the groan of the crowd around him. The woman before Malfoy was a mere 4,000 galleons. Malfoy being Malfoy…well, of course he would be expensive. People shifted around him, peering at their purses and wallets to see if they could suddenly just appear with 10,000 gold coins. There was murmuring as they muttered darkly about the price. However, Harry strode forward as he pulled out a large bag of coins from his wallet. "I'll buy." He stated clearly, and a gasp ran around the crowd as people surged forward a bit to try and see who this man was that was daring to buy such an expensive item. Even the seller looked surprised at the sight of the pouch, but quickly turned his expression into one of eagerness as he moved forward to take the bag, waving his wand to do a money count to ensure it was the right amount. A ding sounded when the money was completely checked and the seller grabbed the back with a satisfied nod, tucking it away in his coat pocket as he turned to grin at Harry. When his gaze landed on his face, a glimmer of surprise shown in his eyes when he recognized him as the Boy Who Lived, but for the sake of business, he merely gave him his gapless disgusting smile as he bent down to unhook Malfoy's shackles from the chain line. Luckily, no one around him recognized him other than the seller, who had chuckled as he hoisted Malfoy up into proper standing position. The blonde's eyes were barely open, staring at Harry, but the raven-haired man saw no recognition in those dull gray eyes.

Suddenly, he was shoved at Harry, whose arms went out to grab the man, pulling him tight against him as he felt Malfoy suddenly sag, most likely recognizing that he wasn't being forced to stand, and that someone was holding him up for him. Harry merely glared at the seller as he shifted Malfoy's weight against him, trying to find a comfortable way to hold him. The seller grinned at him and gave him a tiny mocking bow. "Thank you for your purchase, Mister Potter." He said lowly, raising his head to stare him in the eyes. Harry did nothing but glare for the next couple of seconds, finally finding a position he was okay with, with Malfoy half-thrown over his shoulder.

He didn't even bother with a response, and without a word, he gripped Malfoy tight and shut his eyes, apparating instantly out of the alley.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Hello! I'm sorry this is real short. And unbeta-ed D: I was debating whether it should be a chapter or a prologue. But the idea came to me and i thought 'i don't care how long it is, i just want this idea written out.' and thus, this idea was born.

But, i do want to ask, should i go on with this story? I have half a mind to be a cruel person and literally just stop it right here, and force you readers to come up with story plots of your own, with this chapter merely being a layout for your imagination. :)

However, if you think i really should keep going, please tell me! I've got ideas formulating in my brain. I just need motivation, you know?

Thanks for reading!

Glenn_agape


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

**You Are Not A House Elf**

The moment Draco felt consciousness swim heavily into his mind, he automatically knew something was wrong. Vey wrong. His eyes stayed close, for it hurt to even open them a tiny bit, yet he could feel sunlight beat against his eyelids, almost as if beckoning him to open his eyes and accept the light. That was strange. Never before had he woken to sunlight, if the tarps that covered his caravan cage had anything to do about it. The caravan-! Continuing to lay still as stone, trying to force his breathing to appear limited, Draco breathed quietly, and was shocked that what he inhaled was clean air. Fresh, clean, slightly musky air. The distinct smell of the caravan was gone, as well as the stench of the other wizards and witches he was forced to share the enclosed space with. Wait? But where were they? Was he sent off into isolation again? Had he done something bad to the keepers once more, resulting in them throwing him into an isolated cage again? Would there be new bruises and cuts on his body?

Draco listened quietly, growing anxious when he heard nothing but silence in the air. Braving an action, he nudged his fingers lightly to the side when he suddenly grew stiff and alert. He allowed the senses to flow, taking in everything around him while his eyes were still closed. He was encased in warmth. _Warmth. _Something he hadn't encountered in months. And it was soft. Everywhere around him was soft – as soft as a cloud. His head was laid down on something soft, his body was on and covered with something soft, and there was only one thing that a source of this kind of warmth and softness could be attained from. He was on a bed.

It was that instant that his eyes flew open, feeling no pain in the sudden action. His vision was still blurry from his sleep, but when his eyes cleared up from a few experimental blinks, he found himself looking up at a high ceiling, initially colored black, but had faded to a dark gray after years of accumulated dust. _'So that's why it smelled dusty…' _the blonde thought silently, and moved his head, turning it to the side.

He was indeed on a bed, and appropriately enough, they were a dark green color, much like the ones he had covering his bed once before. A pang of pain flashed across his chest as he remembered his old home, his old life, before he squashed it down by the urge to keep exploring. Next to the bed was a small, mahogany coloured bedside table, holding nothing but a small lamp that glowed faintly its velvet curtain glowing a deep red. Past the table was a simple styled chair, with black cushions and elegant decorations atop it. It was stationed close to the bed and draped on one of its arm rests was a simple, blue, wool blanket. Draco dragged his eyes up past the chair to the large window that was set into the wall. Dark green curtains with gold tassels adorned their edges, pulled back to let out the few rays of the morning to filter into the room. Two small sparrows flitted across the window outside and Draco noticed that a large pine tree blocked half of the window's view.

Turning his head back up to face the ceiling, he took a few deep breaths before moving an arm. With a surprise, he felt no pain lash out at him, and the wrist that had been broken from constant chain yanking felt nothing but a small throb that vanished in an instant. Draco jolted up in bed immediately, feeling a bit nauseous from the sudden movement, but feeling no pain whatsoever run through his body. He bit back a gasp as he withdrew his arms from the large comforter and stared at his pajama-clad body. Complimentary to the room and its décor, he was dressed in black silk pajamas that contrasted his hair immensely. Pushing the sleeves up, his eyes grew wide when he saw he expanse of skin that was clear as it had been just a few months prior to this mess. His other arm was the same, with no evidence of burns, cuts, or wounds. The scars that had accumulated were also lacking, leaving his arms void of injuries. Shock pulsed through his chest as he threw off the blanket to one side, staring down at the rest of his body. _'What's happened…?' _He asked silently to himself as he dragged a pant leg up to reveal the same thing his arms had shown him. Clear. Clear of any wound. Clear of any evidence of his torture. His hands flew to his chest and he all but ripped the silky top open, the shirt revealing his pristine white skin, close to perfection. Draco distinctly remembered, however, that he had a long gash running from his shoulder to his hip bone – a scar that had nearly killed him had it not been for stupid muggle bandages. But that was gone as well. He was healed.

The faint squeak of a door opening indicated to him that someone was coming in. Automatically, he threw on a glare and his fists curled at his sides, as he braced himself for his tormentor. Draco was still confused, still unaware of his surroundings, but he knew that he was sure as hell not going to be dropping his guard any time soon.

With guarded eyes, he watched as the newcomer strode in the room holding a tray of (delicious, oh, he could simply _taste_ it just by looking) food in his hands. However, when he dragged his eyes away from the food and took in the man's face, he nearly choked.

Harry Potter?

Harry Potter….Harry Potter his childhood rival?

Harry Potter, The Golden Boy Who _Unfortunately _Lived?

What was _Harry Potter_ doing here? In his presence?

Strangely enough, Harry Potter wasn't as shocked to see Draco as Draco was for Potter. Instead, he looked pleasantly surprised. "You're awake!" Came the exclamation, and Draco let out a strangled guttural noise as he watched Potter rush over to the chair next to his bed. He placed the food to the side and stood guardedly over the bed, looking over Draco who was frozen solid. So what if he was awake? The question that still remained to exist was what the heck was Potter doing here?

Eager to voice his question, he opened his mouth and was about to shoot out a snarled interrogation when his throat suddenly constricted and all that spilled from his lips was a pathetic 'Whuurgg..' Horrified by the sound, Draco's eyes hardened immensely and he stiffened even more, sending the best death glare he could muster towards Potter, who merely blinked.

"Don't attempt to speak." Came the command, and Draco pulled on the most affronted face that he witnessed Potter obviously try to smother down a snicker. _'How DARE he tell me what to do! Why, as soon as I can speak I'll…I'll-'_ But his thoughts were cut short when the raven-haired man instantly shoved a glass in his hands. Draco automatically took it and when he looked down at it, he realized he had been handed a glass of clear, water. Instantly, he felt like a man who had braved the desert with a simple canteen. "Drink," came Potter's commanding voice again, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as the other man sat down on the chair, moving the blanket over onto the table, next to the tray. Draco didn't need any more encouragement than that, and he was instantly downing the glorious drink.

At first, Draco found that his throat was so parched that when the water hit the back of his mouth, he nearly gagged at its inability to go down. But he forced himself to swallow as he began to eagerly guzzle the drink. The last drop had slid past his lips and he was about to and the glass back, debating whether or not he should ask for more, when he felt that it had gone heavy again. Potter had waved his wand silently, and water had refilled in it, as the other wizard had noticed the desperate gleam in Draco's eyes. The blonde man didn't say a word, and kept drinking. As he finished, the glass refilled, and that was the routine for the next few minutes as he silently drank his fill, with Potter silently providing it. It was only he had finished his fifth glass did he silently hand it back. Wary gray eyes still continued to dart around the room before landing awkwardly on the man on the chair beside him who was sitting there with a look of expectation on his face. Clearing his throat silently, Draco attempted once more to speak.

"Potter." He said, and was satisfied that although it came out as a deep croak, he was able to formulate words.

To his side, said man shifted, a faint grin flashing on his face as he sat back in his chair, growing relaxed as he watched Draco struggle with his surroundings. "Malfoy." He responded with the same tone Draco had said his name in.

At first, Draco wanted to flinch. That was who he had been for the past few months, he remembered. Just Malfoy. And whenever his name was said, it was with a tone so derogatory that just the thought of his name wanted to make him shudder. But what surprised the blonde man was the lack of angry emotion in Harry Potter's voice. There was no irritation, fury, or even simple conviction. He had stated his name, as if he were stating the weather. "Potter." He began again, forcing his voice to stay confident and not to waver. "What are you…what are you doing here?" He asked lamely, trailing off at the end of his question as he saw a flicker of concern fly across Potter's face. He wanted to sneer, to ask what was so bad about the question, when Potter jumped in instead.

"Do you remember anything?" the bespectacled man asked quickly, and Draco stared at him in confusion for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. Draco's head still pulsed lightly, and just looking at the food on the table made him feel light headed. If there was a piece of information that was still underneath his addled mind, Draco didn't know. He simply frowned a bit and shook his head, as Potter frowned lightly. "Does your head still hurt?" He inquired, and Draco had the strongest urge to sniff. Who was Potter to act as if he were a child and the other was a nurse? However, his head really did feel uncomfortable, and Potter was acting like he had forgotten something. _What?_ Nodding reluctantly, Potter shifted closer, causing Draco to shift backwards, and a strong arm shot out to grab hold of the blonde's arm, holding him in place. Draco froze, knowing what that action meant. He was going to get hit, to get cut.

But no such action happened. Instead, Potter pulled out a wand and gently placed the tip on his forehead. Draco watched in mild horror as the other man murmured a quick spell, before quickly releasing his arm and pulling his hand back. Sitting back down, Potter watched Draco with curious eyes.

Said blonde man knitted his brows deeply, suspicion lacing his gray eyes as he opened his mouth, about to shoot out some sort of snappy response. However, before he could even spit out Potter's name, the blanket in his mind lifted instantly, as if someone had snapped their fingers and Draco could think clearly. In fact…a bit _too _clearly.

Immediately, pictures flooded Draco's mind as well as emotions, thoughts, and sensations. With a shout of extreme agony, he fell backwards on the bed, writhing a bit as he clenched his eyes tight, sweat beading on his forehead in seconds. There was pain, pain _everywhere_ and Draco could pinpoint each and every place the pain was found. There was a gash on his shoulder, and cuts on his back. His wrist was twisted and in pain. A feeling of despair covered his chest, making it hard to breathe as his fists clenched. He thrashed to the side and gasped for air, a small twinge in the back of his mind sounding when he realized that the air was provided. But his hand flew to his shoulder, as if to stop the bleeding he was _sure_ was there, but his palm met hot, unblemished skin, where no mark was found. With a groan, he convulsed a bit and his back arched off of the bed as he felt the searing pain in his back shoot up once, before disappearing into a soft throb. He wanted to sob. It was an overwhelming amount of pain that he had never experienced before, all of his injuries flashing across his body, all at once.

The attack ended just as soon as it started, when all the pain that was buried under his body died as soon as they made themselves known. However, he was still left with the strong feeling of misery, and as he lay in the bed, silently panting heavily, his breaths labored, the memories came rushing in like a tsunami.

_"Get him! That's a Malfoy! GET HIM!"_

_ "…you little bastard, thinking that your name and father is anything to go by…"_

_ "STAND UP PROPERLY YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH!"_

_ "…throw him in again…"_

_ "No more food. Not like he deserves it anyways…"_

_ "England?"_

_ "Our star for today…"_

_ "….I'll buy."_

Oh. That was right. Draco was subjugated. Imprisoned. Sold. The memory in his mind voiced once more, a strong and confident 'I'll buy,' and Draco squeezed his eyes shut tighter after recognizing that voice. No wonder Potter was right next to his bed, silent with blank eyes.

Potter had _bought_ him.

The room was silent as Draco breathed, arms splayed out to his side, the sheets a tangled mess underneath him. He could feel the sweat accumulate on his forehead, dripping down his temples, and sliding against his cheek. He wanted to shiver, but he didn't want to move. Trying his hardest to ignore his current life situation, he was quietly relieved that there was no more pain. Whatever…whatever _Potter_ had done to him, it obviously made every single wound he had ever show itself in a really unwanted fashion. But due to the man's healing spells – well, he assumed Potter had healed him – they were only memories of the pain, for his body was healed. However, his emotional state was not.

After several minutes that Draco could have _sworn_ were hours, he opened his eyes when he felt that his breath had calmed down to its normal pace. He turned his head, grey eyes dead and devoid of emotion as he tried his best to not let Potter see anything he was thinking and feeling.

The raven-haired man was sitting in the exact same position he was in after setting the spell on Draco. However, he looked guarded, if not even more cautious of the blonde man than before. He didn't speak, but bright green eyes stayed locked on Draco's grey ones, unnerving the bed-ridden man. "I'm assuming that was your apathetic way of getting me to _remember._" He tried to spit out, but it came out as a pathetic statement. Potter waited a few seconds, before shifting in his seat, a look of awkwardness flickering across his face. But before he could say a word, Draco went on with a scoff as he turned his head back to the ceiling. "Bloody painful too. Thank Merlin you didn't become a Healer, Potter. You would've shamed the name. You would've made a laughing stock out of all the Healers and Mediwizards in the world. You have-"

"Malfoy, shut the hell up." Came the snappy response, a voice so terse that Draco actually did shut up, turning his head towards Potter with one brow raised, calmly waiting for a retaliation. However, when he laid his eyes on the other man, he was surprised to see that the once-calm Potter was now standing, his wand out and aimed at Draco aggressively. For a flashing second, Draco exaggeratedly thought he was going to die. "Must you be an _arse_ no matter what situation you're in?" Potter went on, and Draco frowned. "As much as our history hates us, I wasn't going to let you suffer on that bed." The man had stated it so determinedly that both of Draco's brows went up.

"Showing compassion to the enemy now, are you, Potter?" was the reply that came smartly back.

Draco noted with interest that Potter looked like he was about to burst a vein. "You were in _chains_." Potter had snarled. "You aren't an enemy when you're in chains, Malfoy. The enemy is the one who is so disgusting that they will sink as low as to putting other humans in chains." With that, he pulled his wand arm back, sticking the slender stick in his back pocket. Draco wanted to reply, to say something witty that always made Potter lose his cool, but the man had grabbed the tray and all but slammed it down on the bed off to Draco's side, making the platter rattle and the juice dangerously tilt. "Eat up and drink." Came the command, and Draco looked helplessly at the food on the bed, back to Potter's face which held a dangerous expression. "You are to stay in bed for the remainder of the day and I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if you so much as take one step out of this room I'm going to hex you seven ways from Sunday." Potter said with a heated glare as he turned from the bed, stalking towards the door. Draco was as silent as he could be, still half surprised by the situation, and half exhausted from it all. As he watched the other man walk away, he could hear the mumbled complaints the other man was grumbling, which ran along the lines 'I offer help and it's bloody refused. Slytherins! _Merlin.'_

Slowly but surely, slid up in the bed, careful to not move the tray that was precariously balanced on his lap despite its feeble stands. His jaw was firm set, his eyes clouded as he silently moved his hands up to absently button up his ripped open pajama top. Well. It was probably Potter's clothes, but oh well. He wasn't a man to leave things so broken up. However, at the thought of him wearing _Potter's_ clothes, sleeping in probably _Potter's _guest bed, and eating _Potter's_ food, he was surprisingly not as disgusted as he though he would've initially been. Instead, he felt a small surge of gratitude towards the other man, for taking him out of that miserable hell hole of a caravan.

Once situated in the bed, the blonde man reached out for the pumpkin juice that was seated at the corner of the tray, taking a small sip at it. Much like the water, he felt nourished. His taste buds reawakened after months of stale bread and desecrated water and he quickly set the glass down, reaching for the buttered toast that was kept warm by a warming spell. Biting into the food, he shamelessly let out a small groan of appreciation, his eyes fluttering shut. Suddenly, he pounced, ravenously grabbing at the food on the tray and all but shoving it in his mouth as fast as he could, forcing his throat to swallow quickly. As much as he had hated to admit, but Potter's food was incredibly delicious. The muffins were the exact same sweetness he had always loved, and the toast was crunchy with a golden hue. He had to give props to the man for perfecting such a breakfast feast. Soon, he was disappointed to find all of the food gone on his plate, yet his stomach was grumbling for more. Didn't Potter know that malnourished people would be _hungry_? Testing his motor skills, he was happily discovered that his torso did twist normally, and that he was able to turn to his side, replacing the tray back on the table. Throwing the blankets off of him once more, he moved, his bare feet touching the black-hued wooden ground. His toes curled at the sensation of warmth, and his nose wrinkled. Did Potter charm his house floors to be warm all the time? Well. That would definitely save socks.

He stood up, gripping the headboard, but immediately letting go when he realized that his body was _fine_, everything was fine, and that he could move just as easily as he had when he was younger. _'Screw Potter and his ridiculously good healing skills.' _Came the dry thought sidling in his head before he made his way steadily towards the large, oak door. He reached out, eager to explore the rest of the large-seeming house when he suddenly stopped, a faint shadow of a frown on his lips. Potter said he wasn't allowed out. That he'd hex him if he took even one step out of the room… For the first time in his adult life, Draco started to seriously consider whether or not walking out was a good idea at this very point in time. Potter had seemed serious in his threats, and sleeping for the rest of the day to regain the strength he lost seemed like a wonderfully idea. _'But you're hungry. And you can't recuperate if you're lacking nutrition. And there's no bathroom attached to this room.' _Came the little thought in his head, and Draco recomposed his expression, nodding to no one in particular. Screw Potter. He was hungry. And would probably need the bathroom eventually after all of the liquids he had drank.

With newfound confidence, he gripped the door handle and turned it, pulling open the door as he took a few hesitant steps outside of the room. He held his breath, and after the third step past the door frame, he sighed in relief when no hexes dropped on his head, or an alarm went off. Sniffing a bit, he noticed the hallway looked just as drab as the bedroom. A faded gray carpet ran the length of the hallway, leading off into other corridors as well as a set of large stairs that he saw off to the right. Portraits hung on the walls, and to his surprise, they were a mixed of muggle, wizard, modern, and old. The old wizard ones had people that moved about silently, as if just their presence was deemed unworthy to be in such a house. The muggle modern ones were silent and still, though, with lifeless eyes and no smiles. Draco wondered who these people were, and why they were of muggle-type. What made them so worthy to be hung on the wall of an obviously ancient wizard family's house?

Keeping his steps as silent as possible, Draco frowned when the carpet gave his feet the strangest sensation. He glanced down and gave his feet a withering look. Maybe the floors were warm, sure, but the carpets only made him feel as if he were on top of a crup. Reaching the top of the stairs, he looked down and saw the straight black and elegantly designed railings were a bit faded and chipping. Curling a lip in slight disgust, he mentally shook his head. Was it too hard for Potter to do some minor renovations and restorations in here at least? Walking down silently, he reached the bottom and stood there, unsure what to do next. He was to find the kitchen, surely, but he felt like with every turn, he might find himself in a room he truly didn't want to be in. Doing a mental flip-coin in his head, tails chose right and he turned to that direction, meeting none other than the frowning face of Harry Potter.

"Are you ki-" came the aggravated exclamation from the raven-haired man and Draco immediately spoke up, his hands flying up before him in defense.

"I'm still hungry!" he shouted, and inwardly winced at how weak he had sounded. Seems like the name of Malfoy was diminished in both reputation and strength. Potter stared at him dumbfounded, as if trying to register what he had said. Draco instantly frowned and lowered his hands to his sides. "I'm still hungry." He repeated. "And there's no bathroom attached to your room." The blonde was sorely tempted to tack on an insult at the house after that sentence, but after Potter's initial outburst of anger towards him, Draco figured that it wasn't the best time to get the other man mad right now. "Is there…Can…" he frowned, brows furrowing as he found it still extremely hard to ask any favor from his old childhood rival. Luckily, Potter wasn't stupid.

"Yes, there's a kitchen, and yes, you can have more food." Came the reply, and half of Draco was relieved whereas half of him was also surprised by the immediate lack of distaste in Potter's voice. Now, he simply sounded sympathetic, if not slightly concerned. Draco had half a mind to tell him to bugger off and that he didn't need his pity, but the man had merely turned around and beckoned him to follow with his hand. "Come on." He said simply, and without hesitation, Draco followed.

Entering the kitchen, Draco felt as if he should be having the immediate urge to sneeze. Looking around, nothing _looked_ dusty, but everything _seemed_ as if it were coated in years and years of heavy dust. A heavy black stove was pressed up against the wall, its burners looking as if they hadn't been touched in years. A long table took up the entire middle of the kitchen, where a random assortment of chairs and benches were placed, neither one fitting any scheme or theme at all. Cupboards and pantries were closed by chipped doors, their paint peeling and revealing the pathetic seeming-brown color underneath. He gaped in silence for a bit as Potter went off towards the pantry just past the stove. Finally, after a few minutes of silent staring, he was able to find his voice. "Potter…" he said slowly, and he turned his gaze towards the man who had barely even glanced at it him. "What is this?" He asked simply, crossing his arms as he plaintively stood at the kitchen's entrance.

Potter, who was busy pulling out ingredients, glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. "It's the kitchen." He said just as plainly and snickered just a bit when Draco gave him an exasperated expression. However, at the blonde's reply, the grin simply vanished.

"A kitchen? This is a _kitchen_?" Draco said in disbelief. "And you call this a house? Why, it looks like someone had submerged this entire house in a vat of dust, then left it alone for millions of years! How can you stand living in this hovel? Everything looks old enough to be hundreds of years old, and by hundreds, I mean _abandoned _for hundreds of years. Where did you even find-" Draco was ready to go on onto an even larger rant, raving about the house's condition when he was suddenly blown back. It was an invisible gust of wind that made him stagger back a bit out of the door, and he ended up falling backwards against the wall, the portrait behind him screeching indignantly at being hit. "Potter!" he exclaimed, anger flashing on his face as he straightened up and strode right back into the kitchen. "What the bloody hell was that-" This sentence was cut off as well, as he felt a surge of magic and his mouth zipped itself shut, muffled sounds of protest coming from him.

Eyes blazing, he glared at Potter and immediately widened his eyes in both fear and panic. The raven looked _livid_, and was stalking over to him with his wand drawn. The ingredients had been dumped unceremoniously on the table and Draco wanted to step back, but the other man was faster. A fist curled itself in Draco's shirt, pulling the man closer as Potter glared heatedly at the other man. The blonde turned his head slightly away with a look of pure panic on his face, his eyes hiding nothing short of fear towards the other man. "You are an ungrateful, self-absorbed, idiotic _prat_." Potter spat in his face and Draco felt like withering a bit. No matter how many times people told him that, it really, really hurt his self-dignity. However, due to his inability to speak, he merely stood there and warily listened to Potter rave on. "I save you from certain death, _yes,_ Malfoy, don't give me that face, you looked like you were about to DIE – and gave you a bed to rest on. Clothes, food, my _time_ and now I'm giving you the chance to rebuild your _life_, and THIS is how you treat me?" Potter's green eyes were burning with passion, and Draco had never felt as intimidated as he had now than any other time in his life. Potter was _scary. _"I don't _care _that I had bought you as a slave. But the least you can do is say thank you for saving your SORRY arse from being bought by some sleazy, perverted, insane witch or wizard. Imagine what they could do to someone with the Malfoy name." Draco visibly paled at that, and Potter smirked. "Yeah. Now imagine what they could do to _Draco Malfoy_ of the wizarding world. Exactly. So be quiet for once, and at least be grateful that I live in some kind of house, and not an actual hovel. Or the Burrow." He tacked on that last one and Draco clenched his eyes shut and shook his eyes quickly. God, not the Burrow. He didn't give a flying fuck if the Burrow was 'cozier' like people had said. He would _not_ sink as low as to staying at the Weasley's home. Potter's dank shack would have to do. As well as Potter's ridiculous attitude. Draco had never remembered the other man to be this aggressive. Or maybe he always was, and Draco had forgotten? Either way, Draco would shamefully say that Potter had indeed scared him during that scolding fest. It showed the blonde a different side to Potter. Whether it was one he wanted to see or not, he didn't know.

Finally, the fist in his shirt thrust him away and Draco staggered backwards a bit, a hand raising to his chest. He could feel the hex get lifted and he hastily breathed through his mouth as if he were never to again. Potter stood before him, arms crossed and expression just as vexed. "And seriously, shut up about the house. This could've been yours, you know." He said, then promptly turned away to return to the forgotten food, his wand still clenched tightly in his hand.

Draco blinked, trying to register the last few words, then hastily straightened up, heading straight for Potter's back, but making sure to keep a safe distance between them. "What do you mean…mine?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to enrage the other man any more. But to his surprise, when Potter turned his head back to look at him, there were no traces of anger or any of the previous rage. Draco stood shell-shocked at Potter's quick personality-change. Now, he simply looked tired, if not exhausted.

"Sirius Black left this house to me after he died." The bespectacled man said, grabbing a pan from a cupboard as he spoke. Grabbing the ingredients, he dumped them, bags and all, into the normal looking pan. Draco looked perplexed at both the words and the actions. "He's my godfather. And since he's part of the Black family, he's related to you. If he hadn't…done what he had done, I actually don't know what it was, really, this house could have ultimately found itself in your possession." Finishing the explanation, he flicked his wand and a whirl of activity happened in the pan. The bags and containers vanished, before reappearing back on the table. The ingredients were bare and in the pan that had suddenly conjured up oil, and a steady sizzling noise came from the pan. Draco couldn't help but feel inwardly impressed by the action as well as Potter's ability to do it without speaking. However, the facts still shocked him.

"Sirius Black?" he repeated, and Potter nodded as he returned the containers to the pantry. "Yes…" he said uneasily. "That would make sense…him being a part of my family…" he mumbled, and he looked up when he head Potter snort a bit.

"Yes, it makes_ a lot_ of sense." Came the overly-sarcastic reply and Draco couldn't help but scowl at the treatment.

"Either way, he was disowned. And I wouldn't want a house like this anyway. It's so…drab." Came the pathetic statement. His first few sentences had already caused Potter to glare at him, resulting in Draco weakly ending with a lame insult.

There was a nod of satisfaction from the raven as Draco carefully picked his words but the other man still frowned slightly. He turned towards the blonde fully, and once more, Draco was surprised by just how _done_ Potter seemed with everything. "This…Grimmauld Place, yes, shut up, that's the name Malfoy." He spoke pointedly when Draco looked a bit taken aback by the name. "This place is my home. And…it's the only home I've got." He said confidently, as Draco quirked one eyebrow. Was Potter going to go on a whole monologue on how he loved this house and how no other house could live up to its drabness? "Where else am I supposed to go? My relatives? They stuffed me in a _cupboard_ for Merlin's sake. I doubt my foot can fit in there now. Ron's place? I don't want to impose on him and Hermione." Draco couldn't help but openly snort at that, which resulted in a quick thwack at his arm. He winced at expecting intense pain, but blinked when the hit didn't hurt at all. Right, he was healed. "Completely ignore this house and go by a new one? This house was a gift by the only man who could ever be a father to me." Potter said sternly and Draco felt a tiny pang of sympathy towards him. How awful it must be, to be left a house, only to realize it was unappealing and _sad_. "So just…just _ignore_ everything about the house and use the time here to recuperate, okay?"

Draco instantly furrowed his brows at the statement and spoke quickly to get his word in. "Recuperate?"

"Of course." Potter said with a curious look. "I'm not going to let you go back to your old life with a hurt pride, dignity, and a tarnished name." The man had said this extremely calmly, as if he were stating the weather.

The tall blonde stood still, shocked beyond belief. "Go back?" Draco said faintly, ignoring the fact that he didn't sound as confident as he had hoped he would be. Potter was going to let him 'go back'? To what life? To what family? To what job? Hell, he was fully expecting days full of commands, fights, and never-ending frustration.

At the question, Potter finally took on an expression that screamed 'DUH'. "What?" Potter asked, crossing his arms and curiously staring at him. "You don't think I'm going to actually keep you as a slave, do you? Malfoy, I don't need you to do my housework for me. I bought you to _free _you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Hi! Yeah, this is unbeta'd because i was pressed for time for publishing it and so i kind of just uploaded it. I'll read through it when i can then fix it then.

This chapter...well, there is no real story plot sorted out for this fic yet, since i was just planning on just making that one chapter alone. So, whether this seems like a filler to you, or it doesn't, i hope you like it!

TL;DR: Draco wakes up in Potter's house~ Literally. That's it. 10 pages of just _house. _Hope it wasn't too boring..hmm...

Any questions, comments, or concerns, love, flame, or words, feel free to **Review!**

Kisses~!


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